Shadow Play_A Dark Fantasy Novel

by Jill Ramsower

  “Indeed, I do, it's a good thing you have your stretchy pants on.”

  “You are an evil, evil woman.”

  “You love me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but will you love me when my ass doesn't fit through that door?”

  I laughed as I put away my bags and hung my coat up behind the door. “How was your day?”

  After opening the food containers, she fell back onto the cream-colored sofa cushions with a loud sigh. “Just super, I worked all day proofing this God-awful historical drama about the Titanic. I’m pretty sure my eyes are going to start bleeding if I have to read any more of it tomorrow. I mean, who writes a book and doesn’t even have a foundational knowledge of English grammar? And who wants to read a horrible tragedy where you know from the start that everyone is going to die? Not me, that’s who.”

  “I know honey, but you are paying your dues, and one day you’ll be the muckity-muck at the top of the ladder deciding what books to publish. Just hang in there.” Her pitiful eyes rolled in my direction like a child whose ice cream had just fallen on the floor and we both burst out laughing.

  This was what I was going to miss most, sharing my day with my dearest friend in the world. I knew there were cell phones and we could Facetime or Skype, but it wasn’t the same as giving each other pedicures and scouring thrift shops on our days off. I was going to miss this girl and that thought had my eyes watering. Before I could stop it, my laugh turned to sobs.

  “Oh my God! What’s going on here? Are you crying? What happened?” she rushed to wrap her arms around me. “Did somebody hurt you? Tell me who it was, I’ve read plenty of mafia books—I could totally kill a man and no one would ever find the body.”

  I wavered between sobbing and laughing as I looked up into her eyes. “Ash, I have some good news but I’m not sure you’re going to be happy about it.”

  “Holy shit you got knocked up.” Her eyes grew huge. “It was that hottie in 5B, wasn’t it! You said you guys didn’t hook up! Don’t worry—”

  “Ash—” I tried to cut in.

  “—we will do this together and it will all work out, I promise.”

  “Ash! I’m not pregnant. I got a job … in Ireland.”

  Ash's stunned eyes met mine, tears still wet on my flushed cheeks. After what felt like ages, she breathed out a huge sigh and sank back into the couch. “Oh, thank God, because no matter what I said, I’m not ready for a kid yet.”

  We both contemplated that image before she peered at me curiously. “Then why are you crying? This is a good thing, right? A museum job?”

  I reached for Ashley's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s an amazing opportunity, I’ll have my foot in the door at a world-class museum. But Ash, you’re my soul sister, and it’s so far away. I’m going to miss you so much and I don’t want you to be upset at me for leaving.”

  Her eyes got glassy as she sat forward. “Bec, there won’t be a day we don’t talk so don’t you even worry about it. You need to do this and I know I'll miss you, but I’m also thrilled for you too—how could I be mad that you're getting to chase after your dream?” She gave me a warm hug as I tried to comprehend how I had lucked into finding such an amazing best friend.

  “Thank you, Ash.”

  “When are you supposed to leave?”

  “I told Fergus, that’s my new boss, that I could be there in two weeks.”

  She nodded to herself, eyes narrowed in concentration before she spoke. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I haven’t taken hardly a day of vacation since I started my job so I’m going to pack my shit and I’m going with you for the first couple weeks while you settle in. We can get your new place set up, check out the area, and see how many gorgeous Irish men we can round up.”

  My mouth fell open and for a moment I had no words. “Are you sure? That’s a long trip, and it's such short notice—I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss. Not to mention how expensive it is to get over there.” I knew from the determined set of her lips and narrowing of her eyes that she had made up her mind and there would be no arguing with my stubborn friend.

  “It’s my vacation time and I can use it if I want, and don’t start about it being expensive—I’m an independent woman with no kids and a decent job, I can decide to jet off to Europe if I want to.”

  I laughed at my best friend and my chest warmed.

  She jumped up and clapped her hands together. “I'm so excited! I'd say I'm too excited to eat, but we both know that will never happen.”

  2

  Stepping out of the airport in search of the taxi line, I squeezed my eyelids shut and froze in place as my eyes struggled to adjust to one of the handful of sunny days in Belfast. We had learned in our studies preparing for the trip that Northern Ireland, due to its hilly nature and geographical location, only averages a whopping sixty days of sunshine a year.

  “You okay there?” Ash asked.

  “I don’t know if it was from the dark flight or what, but this sun is killing my eyes. Just give me a second to adjust.”

  “No rush, I’ve got two weeks and nothing but time on my hands, it’s going to be amazing! I know we have to get you all settled in the city first, but I can’t wait to tour around the countryside and see all the sights.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes before she continued. “Speaking of sightseeing, that guy across the way has been staring at us the entire time we’ve been out here—what a creeper.”

  Standing about fifty feet from us, a man glared unabashedly in our direction. He was not necessarily unattractive, but his narrowed eyes and clenched angular jaw made him wholly terrifying. Broad shouldered and easily over six feet tall, he wore a dark trench coat and cream-colored scarf around his neck, leaving his closely shaved head exposed. His cheeks were hollowed out and he had a bit of stubble on his jaw, but the most unsettling part was how his leering gaze held my eyes unapologetically.

  “I saw that movie Taken, let’s get a cab and get out of here before we end up stolen and sold as sex slaves,” I said as I broke his stare and we hastily pulled our bags over to the taxi line.

  Once inside the cab, I glanced back at the man. He had not taken his eyes from us and only after we were almost too far to see did he turn to walk down the sidewalk and away from the airport.

  After a while, we pulled up to a line of two-story, attached row houses. The stretch of red-brick buildings made me think of soldiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder. There were no trees and the collection of homes had seen their heyday come and go. The neighborhood didn’t appear too bad and it was only a ten-minute walk to work. At just under six hundred pounds a month, it was a great deal compared to the other options I had seen.

  The front door opened straight into the living area with no designated front entry. The walls were ivory and the small living room had a beige loveseat, sofa, and a small oak kitchenette table with two chairs on white linoleum floors. The large windows let in ample light, which was good because an unadorned lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room served as the solitary light source for the downstairs.

  “Nice,” commented Ashley as we both stood with our eyes on the unimpressive fixture.

  “Yeah well, it works. That’s more than I could say for some of the stuff in our efficiency back in New York.”

  There was a tiny galley kitchen with a small oven, microwave and a refrigerator that was several inches shorter than me and I was relieved to find that they all seemed to work. The old wood cabinets were painted a light blue and had seen better days, but they would serve their purpose.

  “It’ll do, let’s go up and checkout the bedroom and bath.”

  The stairs didn’t creak, which was a bonus. The bedroom contained a queen-sized bed with a small particle board chest, and while cramped, also had two large windows making it feel more spacious. The bathroom was lined in white tiles throughout and had a shower stall, commode, and pedestal sink—not exactly overflowing with storage, but it was decently clean and would s
uffice.

  That night I lay awake in bed, haunted by the man at the airport. I couldn’t get his penetrating stare out of my head and just thinking about it made my palms sweat with anxiety. Normally, I was very independent and unafraid of being on my own, but as I lay there in my new bed, I was glad Ash was with me.

  3

  The next morning, nervous energy had me up early ironing my best black slacks and cardigan set. With my boyish frame, pants often fit me better than dresses, unless they were tight, but that didn't suit well for work. While I wasn't blessed with an hour-glass figure, I did inherit a generous chest from my mother. That's where the similarities ended.

  My parents were both fair with blue and hazel eyes, in contrast, my hair was almost black and my eyes a dark brown that suited my olive skin. Growing up, I was sometimes teased about being the milkman’s daughter. I had been blond with hazel eyes as a young child, but my coloring gradually darkened until I hardly resembled the blond baby in my mom's photo albums.

  Despite the teasing, I liked my dark coloring. I was often asked if I was Polynesian, or Native American, or something equally exotic. The fact of the matter was, my mom was all Irish/English and dad was a mutt with a German predominance. I wouldn’t have minded having a smaller waist, but other than that, I loved my wavy dark hair and great skin, so things could have been worse.

  Two years in New York will get you used to walking everywhere, so the half-mile commute to the museum was easy, or at least as much as a walk can be in freezing temperatures. With comfortable shoes and my warm wool coat, the walk was brisk but not totally unbearable. The museum didn’t open until 10 a.m. but work started at 9 a.m. and went to 6 p.m. when the museum closed. I loved the hours because they were perfect for being able to hit a bar, or pub as they would say here, on occasion and not worry about work first thing the next morning.

  The Ulster Museum was built out of smooth white stone and made for an impressive sight. The front half of the building, facing the street, bore the original turn-of-the-century, multi-paned windows with giant stone columns, giving it the appearance of an old courthouse or state building. On the other hand, the back half of the large building, which had been added in recent years, was ultra-modern. The two halves were somehow sewn together seamlessly in a brilliant display of architectural design, surrounded by trees bursting with fall colors and a thick carpet of green grass.

  I pulled open the heavy, solid-wood door at the front entrance and took in the lobby. Much like the back half of the building, the interior had been completely updated. Smooth white surfaces adorned much of the entry with some occasional rich wood paneling to warm the room. The gift shop was sectioned off by thick plate glass walls and through a tall archway I glimpsed the central atrium of the four-story museum within. Pride and excitement filled my chest as I took in the beautiful facility in which I would be working.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  The words shook me out of my daze and I peered around for the source. Behind the visitors’ desk was a young woman with shockingly red hair curling just past her shoulders. She was petite with green eyes and loads of freckles scattered across her friendly face.

  “I didn’t mean to get caught staring, it’s just that this place is amazing, even better than the photos,” I said, walking to the young woman to introduce myself.

  “Ah, you must be Rebecca Peterson! Welcome to Ireland and welcome to the Ulster! I’m Catronia, but please call me Cat. Would you like me to phone Mr. Campbell for you?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I suppose it’s not every day an American comes by and is struck dumb in your entry. Yes, I’m Rebecca, but please call me Becca and if you wouldn’t mind informing Mr. Campbell that I’m here, that would be wonderful.”

  She nodded and quickly paged for the curator, whom I could hear through the receiver in his enigmatic voice proclaim that he would be there in a jiffy.

  “Have you worked at the museum for long?” I asked, attempting some small talk with my new coworker.

  “For about a year. My mum is a friend of Fergus, Mr. Campbell I should say, so once I got my leaving certificate, that’s finishing secondary, I started working here. I was never interested in third level school and with my mum’s connection at the museum and this job ready for the taking, things just fell into place,” she said as she twirled a red curl between her fingers.

  “Have you lived here all your life then?”

  “All my life, and the same for my parents, and their parents, and so on. You could say we are a pillar in the Belfast community.” The snarky tone in her voice hinted at an appreciation for sarcasm, which brought her up a notch in my estimation.

  “That sounds intriguing, actually. We traveled a ton growing up so having roots in a community has appeal.” Just as I finished, my eyes caught sight of a middle-aged man in a deep purple suit coming our way.

  “Rebecca! It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance in person.”

  I was quickly wrapped in a tight hug and then kissed on each cheek. That was something that would take me a while to adjust to. I wasn’t even a hugger and I certainly didn’t walk around kissing people I hardly knew.

  “Thank you, Mr. Campbell, I’m thrilled to be here. The museum is absolutely awe-inspiring. I can’t wait to walk through the exhibits and learn about each one.”

  “Aye, but I’ve told you, call me Fergus, please. We will be spending plenty of time together so no room for formalities. I see you've met our Cat, she’s such an asset, we love having her with us. How about I show you the offices and you can meet the rest of the staff,” he suggested animatedly as he clapped his hands together and turned toward the elevators.

  He was exactly as I’d pictured him after our colorful conversation over the phone. At about five-foot eleven, he was not particularly tall but had a proud stature with strawberry blond hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and blue eyes. His deep purple suit was high quality, and the light grey dress shirt, and purple striped bowtie polished off his look with a sophisticated panache. He even wore shining black patent leather dress shoes that clacked on the floor as he strode to the elevator bank.

  “We're up on the fourth floor. I think you will get along with everyone swimmingly, although there are fewer of us than you might expect. We have a good number of patrons through our doors but I’m afraid we are still small scale compared to your New York City museums,” he commented as we got on the elevator and headed to the top floor.

  His accent, though thick, was refined and I found it was easier to understand in person than it had been over the phone. I wondered if he had spent some time in England or if it was just schooling that had kept his words discernable through the otherwise thick accent.

  “I’d much rather have a hands-on role in a smaller museum than be stuck in an office for a larger one, not that there's anything small about this museum,” I assured him as we exited the elevator.

  “Excellent, because you will definitely be down in the trenches here. I’ve needed some help desperately and finding someone with the proper skills around here has been a bloody nightmare.” Lifting his hand, he guided me off the elevator and around to the glass door labeled ‘Administration.’

  For the remainder of the morning, Fergus walked me through the office and explained the tasks I would be working on. We had a comfortable rapport and enjoyed visiting about our backgrounds during a sandwich lunch at the coffee shop. After lunch, we spent the afternoon touring the museum to help acquaint me with the exhibits. We roamed the halls as he gave explanations about the origins of each display. From the Dale Chihuly glass sculptures, to the Takabuti ancient Egyptian Mummy, he was a fountain of information.

  A couple hours into our tour, he paused to glance at his phone. “Ach lass, Claire in the office is texting me, says there’s a call I have to take.”

  “That’s no problem, I know I’ve taken most of your day getting oriented,” I quickly assured him. “There’s not much left and I’m happy to finish on my own—I�
�m sure we’ll have some time to discuss the remaining exhibits another day.”

  “Aye, Becca, I’ll just be a few moments. Come and find me in the office once you’ve finished up.”

  “Will do.”

  He hurried in the direction of the stairs with what I assumed must be his standard, high-energy manner. As much as I loved hearing the detailed background on the various works of art and historical artifacts, there was not much I enjoyed more than having some quiet time to myself to appreciate the pieces in a museum. I rounded the corner into the next exhibit, where a life-sized bronze statue of a stallion reared up on its hind legs caught my attention. As I approached, I found that I was mesmerized by his captivating eyes.

  “Masterful craftsmanship, is it not?”

  I started with a gasp at the rich voice coming from behind me. A young man stood not three feet away, at least I thought he was young at first glance. The longer my eyes were on him, the harder it was to tell. His features were not particularly aged, but his eyes had a depth to them that spoke of great experience. He was trim, just about five or six inches taller than me, and had short hair so light that it was hard to tell if it was blond or white. His pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his thin lips were curved up in amusement. With his hands clasped behind his back, he gazed at the statue.

  “Yes, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it. The expression captured in his eyes is so fierce, you can almost feel the life in him,” I said as I returned my eyes to the sculpture.

  “Indeed, as if the very ground quakes from his pounding hooves. All he needs is a commanding rider with a shining sword and the visage would be complete.” His words were precisely spoken and his voice was deep and calming, like a warm comfortable blanket. His accent was a mystery, a proper English, but colored with something else that I couldn’t discern.